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This "True Blue" was written by William Henry Giles Kingston in English language.

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True BlueByWilliam Henry GilesKingston

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of True Blue, by W.H.G. KingstonThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: True BlueAuthor: W.H.G. KingstonRelease Date: May 15, 2007 [EBook #21481]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: ISO-8859-1*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRUE BLUE ***Produced by Nick Hodson of London, EnglandW.H.G. Kingston"True Blue"Chapter One.True Blue—A British Seaman of the Old School.The old Terrible, 74, was ploughing her way across the waters of the Atlantic, now rollingand leaping, dark and angry, with white-crested seas which dashed against her bows andflew in masses of foam over her decks. She was under her three topsails, closely reefed;but even thus her tall masts bent, and twisted, and writhed, as if striving to leap out of her,while every timber and bulkhead fore and aft creaked and groaned, and the blocks rattled,and the wind roared and whistled through the rigging in chorus; and the wild waves rolledand tumbled the big ship about, making her their sport, as if she was a mere cock-boat.Stronger and stronger blew the gale; darkness came on and covered the world of waters,

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and through that darkness the ship had to force her way amid the foaming, hissing seas.Darker and darker it grew, till the lookout men declared that they might as well have shuttheir eyes, for they could scarcely make out their own hands when held at arm’s lengthbefore their noses.Suddenly, however, the darkness was dispelled by the vivid flashes of lightning, which,darting from the low hanging clouds, circled about their heads, throwing a lurid glare on thecountenances of all on deck. Once more all was dark; then again the forked lightning burstforth hissing and crackling through the air, leaping along the waves and playing round thequivering masts. Now the big ship plunged into the trough of the sea with a force whichmade it seem as if she was never going to rise again; but up the next watery height sheclimbed, and when she got to the top, she stopped as if to look about her, while the lightningflashed brighter than ever; and then, rolling and pitching, and cutting numerous other antics,she lifted up her stern as if she was going to give a vicious fling out with her heels, anddownwards she plunged into the dark obscurity, amid the high foam-topped seas, whichhissed and roared high above her bulwarks. Her crew walked her deck with but little anxiety,although they saw that the gale was likely to increase into a hurricane; for they had longserved together, they knew what each other was made of, and they had confidence in theirofficers and in the stout ship they manned.The watch below had hitherto remained in their hammocks, and most of them, in spite of thegale, slept as soundly as ever. What cared they that the ship was roiling and tumblingabout? They knew that she was watertight and strong, that she had plenty of sea-room, andthat they would be roused up quickly enough if they were wanted. There was one person,however, who did not sleep soundly—that was her Captain, Josiah Penrose. He could notforget that he had the lives of some eight hundred beings committed to his charge, and heknew well that, even on board a stout ship with plenty of sea-room, an accident might occurwhich would require his immediate presence on deck. He was therefore sitting up in hiscabin, holding on as best he could, and attempting to read—a task under all circumstances,considering that he had lost an eye, and was not a very bright scholar, more difficult ofaccomplishment than may be supposed. He had lost an arm, too, which made it difficult forhim to hold a book; besides, his book was large, and the printing was not over clear, a faultcommon in those days; and the paper was a good deal stained and injured from the effectsof damp and hot climates. He was aroused from his studies by a signal at the door, and theentrance of one of the quartermasters.“What is it, Pringle?” asked the Captain, looking up.“Why, sir, Molly Freeborn is taken very bad, and the doctor says that he thought you wouldlike to know,” was the answer. “He doesn’t think as how she’ll get over it. Maybe, sir, you’dwish to see the poor woman?”“Certainly, yes; I’ll go below and see her,” answered the Captain in a kind tone. “Poor Molly!But where is her husband—where is Freeborn? It will be a great blow to him.”“It is his watch on deck, sir. No one liked to go and tell him. He could do no good, and thebest chance, the doctor said, was to keep Molly quiet. But I suppose that they’ll let him knownow,” answered the quartermaster.“Yes; do you go and find him, and take him below to his wife, and just break her state gently

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to him, Pringle,” said the Captain.Captain Penrose stopped a moment to slip on his greatcoat, and to jam a sou’wester tightlydown over his head, before he left the cabin on his errand of kindness, when a terrific clapwas heard, louder than one of thunder, and the ship seemed to quiver in every timber foreand aft. The Captain sprang on deck, for the moment, in his anxiety for the safety of hisship, forgetting his intention with regard to Molly Freeborn.Poor Molly! There she lay in the sick-bay, which had been appropriated to her use, gaspingout her life amid the tumult and disturbance of that terrific storm. She was one of threewomen allowed, in those days, under certain circumstances, to be on board ship for thepurpose of acting as nurses to the sick, and of washing for the officers and men. Herhusband was captain of the maintop, and as gallant and fine a seaman as ever stepped.Everybody liked and respected him.But Molly was even a greater favourite. There was not a kinder-hearted, more gentle,sensible, and judicious person in existence. No one had a greater variety of receipts for allsorts of ailments, and no one could more artistically cook dishes better suited to the taste ofthe sick. Most of the officers, who had from time to time been ill and wounded,acknowledged and prized her talents and excellencies; and the Captain declared that heconsidered he owed his life, under Providence, entirely to the care with which she nursedhim through an attack of fever when the doctor despaired of his life.“All hands on deck!” was the order given as soon as the Captain saw what had occurred.The main-topsail had been blown from the boltropes, and the tattered remnants were nowlashing and slashing about in the gale, twisting into inextricable knots, and winding andwriggling round the main-topsail yard, rendering it a work of great danger to go out on it. Theboatswain’s whistle sounded shrilly through the storm a well-known note. “All hands shortensail!” was echoed along the decks. “Rouse out there—rouse out—idlers and all on deck!”Everybody knew that there was work to be done; indeed, the clap made by the parting ofthe sail had awakened even the soundest sleepers. Among the first aloft, who endeavouredto clear the yard of the fragments of the sail, was William Freeborn, the captain of themaintop. With knives and hands they worked away in spite of the lashing they got, nowbeing almost strangled, and now dragged off the yard.The Captain resolved to heave the ship to. The wind had shifted, and if they ran on evenunder bare poles, they would be carried on too much out of their course. It was a delicateand difficult operation. A new main-topsail had first to be bent. It took the united strength ofthe crew to hoist it to the yard. At length the sail was got up and closely reefed, hauled out,strengthened in every possible way to resist the fury of the gale. It was an operation whichoccupied some time. The fore-topsail had to be taken in. The helm was put down, and, asshe came slowly up to the wind, the after-sail being taken off also, she lay to, gallantly ridingover the still rising seas. Though she did not tumble about, perhaps, quite as much as shehad been doing, her movements were far from easy. She did not roll as before, as she waskept pressed down on one side; still every now and then she gave a pitch as she glideddown into the trough of the sea, which made every timber and mast creak and quiver, andfew on board would have been inclined to sing:“Here’s a sou’wester coming, Billy,

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Don’t you hear it roar now!Oh help them! How I pities those Unhappy folks on shore now!”At length William Freeborn was relieved from his post aloft, and came down on deck. PaulPringle, his old friend and messmate, who had been hunting for him through the darkness,found him at last. Paul grieved sincerely for the news he had to communicate, and, notliking the task imposed on him, scarcely knew how to begin.“Bill,” said he with a sigh, “you and I, boy and man, have sailed together a good score ofyears, and never had a fall-out about nothing all that time, and it goes to my heart, Bill, tosay any thing that you won’t like; but it must be done—that I sees—so it’s no use to have nocircumbendibus. Your missus was took very bad—very bad indeed—just in the middle ofthe gale, and there was no one to send for you—and so, do you see—”“My wife—Molly!—oh, what has happened, Paul?” exclaimed Freeborn, not waiting for ananswer; but springing below, he rushed to the sick-bay, as the hospital is called. The faintcry of an infant reached his ears as he opened the door. Betty Snell, one of the othernurses, was so busily employed with something on her knees, that she did not see himenter. The dim light of a lantern, hanging from a beam overhead, fell on it. He saw that itwas a newborn infant. He guessed what had happened, but he did not stop to caress it, forbeyond was the cot occupied by his wife. There she lay, all still and silent. His heart sankwithin him; he gazed at her with a feeling of terror and anguish which he had never beforeexperienced. He took her hand. It fell heavily by her side. He gasped for breath. “Molly!” heexclaimed at length, “speak to me, girl—what has happened?”There was no answer. Then he knew that his honest, true-hearted wife was snatched fromhim in this world for ever. The big drops of salt spray, which still clung to his hair and bushybeard, dropped on the kind face of her he had loved so well, but not a tear escaped hiseyes. He gladly would have wept, but he had not for so many a long year done such a thing,and he felt too stunned and bewildered to do so now. He had stood as a sailor alone couldstand on so unstable a foothold, gazing on those now placid and pale unchanging featuresfor a long time,—how long he could not tell,—when Paul Pringle, who had followed him tothe door of the sick-bay, came up, and, gently taking him by the shoulders, said:“Come along, Bill; there’s no use mourning: we all loved her, and we all feel for you, fromthe Captain downwards. That’s a fact. But just do you come and have a look at the younker.Betty Snell vows that he’s the very image of you, all except the beard and pigtail.”The latter appendage in those days was worn by most sailors, and Bill Freeborn had reasonto pride himself on his. The mention of it just then, however, sent a pang through his heart,for Molly had the morning before the gale dressed it for him.Freeborn at first shook his head and would not move; but at last his shipmate got him to turnround, and then Betty Snell held up the poor little helpless infant to him, and the father’sheart felt a touch of tenderness of a nature it had never before experienced, and he stoopeddown and bestowed a kiss on the brow of his newborn motherless child. He did not,

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however, venture to take it in his arms.“You’ll look after it, Betty, and be kind to it?” said he in a husky voice. “I’m sure you will, forher sake who lies there?”“Yes, yes, Bill; no fear,” answered Betty, who was a good-natured creature in her way,though it was a rough way, by the bye.She was the wife of one of the boatswain’s mates. Her companion, Nancy Bolton, who wasthe wife of the sergeant of marines, was much the same sort of person; indeed, it would nothave done for the style of life they had to lead, to have had too refined characters on board.“Bless you, Freeborn—take care of the baby, of course we will!” added Nancy, looking upfrom some occupation about which she had been engaged. “We’ll both be mothers to him,and all the ship’s company will act the part of a father to him. Never you fear that. As longas the old ship holds together, he’ll not want friends; nor after it, if there’s one of us alive.Set your mind at rest now.”“Yes, that we will, old ship,” exclaimed Paul Pringle, taking Freeborn’s hand and wringing itwarmly. “That’s to say, if the little chap wants more looking after than you can manage. Butcome along now. There’s no use staying here. Bet and Nancy will look after the child betterthan we can, and you must turn in. Your hammock is the best place for you now.”The gale at length ceased; the ship was put on her proper course for the West Indies,whither she was bound; the sea went down, the clouds cleared away, and the glorious suncame out and shone brightly over the blue ocean. All the officers and men assembled onthe upper deck, and then near one of the middle ports was placed a coffin, covered with theUnion-Jack. There ought to have been a chaplain, but there was none; and so the Captaincame forward with a Prayer-book, and in an impressive, feeling way, though not withoutdifficulty, read the beautiful burial service to be used at sea for a departed sister; and thetwo women stood near the coffin, one holding a small infant; and there stood WilliamFreeborn, supported by Paul Pringle, for by himself he could scarcely stand; and then slowlyand carefully the coffin was lowered into the waves, and as they closed over it, in theimpulse of the moment, the bereaved widower would have thrown himself after it, notknowing what he was about, had not Paul Pringle held him back. Down sank the coffinrapidly, and was hid to sight by the blue ocean—the grave of many a brave sailor, and ofthousands of the young, and fair, and brave, and joyous, and of the proud and rich also, butnever of a more kind-hearted honest woman than was Molly Freeborn. So all on board theTerrible declared, and assuredly they spoke the truth.Chapter Two.Onward across the Atlantic, as fast as her broad spread of white canvas filled by the windcould force her, glided the staunch old “seventy-four,” which bore our hero and his fortunes,though at that time they did not look very prosperous; nor was he himself, it must beacknowledged, held in much consideration except by his own father and his two worthynurses. His fare, too, was not of the most luxurious, nor suited to his delicate appetite. Milkthere was none; and the purser, not expecting so juvenile an addition to the ship’s company,had not provided any in a preserved state,—indeed, in those days, it may be doubted

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whether such an invention had been thought of,—while a round-shot had carried off thehead of the cow in the last action in which the Terrible had been engaged. As she furnishedfresh beef to the ship’s company, they would not have objected to a similar accidenthappening again.Poor Molly’s child had, therefore, to be fed on flour and water, and such slops as the doctorand the nurses could think of. They could not have been unsuitable, for it throvewonderfully, and was pronounced by all the ship’s company as fine a child as ever wasseen.“Have you been and had a look at Molly Freeborn’s baby?” asked Dick Tarbrush of hismessmate, Tom Buntline. “Do now, then. Such a pretty young squeaker. Bless you, it’ll doyour heart good. He’s quite a hangel.”Similar remarks were made, one to the other, by the men; and one by one, or sometimes adozen of them together, would come into the women’s cabin to have a look at the baby, andthen they would stand in a circle round him, with their hands on their hips or behind them,afraid to touch it, their pigtails stuck out as they bent down, their huge beards, andwhiskers, and pendent lovelocks forming a strong contrast to the diminutive, delicatefeatures of the infant, who might, notwithstanding, one day be expected to grow up similar inall respects to one of them.After the gale, the Terrible encountered head winds, and light winds, and calms, and bafflingwinds of every description, so that her passage to the station was long delayed. It gavetime, however, for the baby to grow, and for the discussion of several knotty pointsconnected with him. The most knotty of them was the matter of his christening. Now, thecrew held very much the same opinion with regard to their Captain that a certain captainheld of himself, when one day he took it into his head to make his chaplain a bishop, that ofhis own sovereign will he could do all things. They knew that when there was no chaplain onboard, he could bury a grownup person, and so they thought that he surely could christen alittle infant. They accordingly, after due deliberation, resolved to send a deputation to him,requesting him to perform the ceremony.After some discussion, it was agreed that it would be advisable to carry the baby itself withthem, to strengthen the force of their appeal. It was thought better that the women shouldnot appear; and Paul Pringle was selected unanimously to be the bearer of the child. Nowhonest Paul was a bachelor, and had literally never handled a baby in his life. He, therefore,felt an uncommon awe and trepidation, as half unwillingly and half proudly he undertook theoffice. However, at last, when coyly led forward, with his head all on one side and abeaming smile on his honest countenance, he found that his big paws, stretched out, madea first-rate cradle; though, not being aware of the excessive lightness of the little creature,he very nearly chucked it over his shoulders. Betty and Nancy, after arranging the child’sclothes, bestowing sundry kisses, and giving several important cautions, let the party ofhonest Jacks proceed on their errand.“Well, my lads, what is it you want?” asked the Captain in a good-natured voice, as theseamen, being announced by the sentry, made their appearance at the door of the cabin.Paul Pringle cleared his voice before speaking, and then he said, very nearly choking thebaby in his mechanical attempt to pull a lock of his hair as he spoke:

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“We be come for to ax your honour to make a Christian of this here squeaker.”The good Captain looked up with his one eye, and now perceived the small creature thatPaul held in his hands.“Ah, you mean that you want him christened, I suppose,” answered the Captain, smiling.“Well, I must see about that. Let me have a look at the poor little fellow. He thrives well.See, he smiles already. He’ll be a credit to the ship, I hope. I’ll do what I can, my lads. Idon’t think that there’s anything about it in the articles of war. Still, what can be done I’ll do,most assuredly.”While Captain Penrose was speaking, he was looking kindly at the infant and playing hisfinger round its mouth. He had had children of his own, and he felt as a father, though littleindeed had he seen of them, and they had all long since been taken from him.“Now you may go, my lads, and I’ll let you know what I can do for you,” he said after sometime.On this the deputation withdrew, well pleased with their interview.As soon as the men were gone, Captain Penrose turned to the articles of war, and all therules and regulations of the service with which he had been furnished, and hunted themthrough, and turned them over and over again, but could find nothing whatever about thebaptism of infants. Most assiduously he looked through his Prayer-Book: not a word couldhe discover authorising captains in the navy to perform the rite. He pulled down all thebooks on his shelves and hunted them over; there were not many, certainly, but they madeup by their quality and toughness for their want of number: not a word on the subject inquestion could he find. For many an hour and for many a day did he search, for he was nota man to be baffled by a knotty point or by an enemy for want of exertion on his part, thoughat last he had to confess that in this matter he was beaten. He therefore sent for PaulPringle, and told him that though he could bury all the ship’s company, and could hang amutineer at the yardarm, or could shoot him on the quarterdeck, he had no authority, that hecould find, for christening a baby. Much disappointed, Paul returned to his shipmates. In fullconclave, therefore, it was settled, with poor Will Freeborn’s consent, that as soon as theship reached Port Royal harbour, in Jamaica, the little fellow should be taken on shore to bechristened all shipshape and properly. When the Captain heard of this, he gave his fullconsent to the arrangement, and promised to assist in its execution.The flag of the gallant Sir Peter Parker was flying in the harbour of Port Royal when, after along passage, the Terrible fired the usual salute on entering, and dropped her anchor there.Two or three days elapsed before the duty of the ship would allow any of the crew to go onshore. On the first Sunday morning, however, it was notified that a hundred of them mighthave six hours’ leave, and that if the infant was presented, after morning service, before theminister of one of the parish churches, he would perform the wished-for ceremony. Greatwere the preparations which had been made. Betty Snell and Nancy Bolton were dressedout with shawls, and furbelows, and ribbons of the gayest colours and patterns, and lookedand thought themselves very fine. Nothing could surpass the magnificence of the child’srobe. All the knowledge of embroidery possessed by the whole ship’s company had beenexpended on it, and every chest and bag had been ransacked to find coloured beads andbits of silk and worsted and cotton of different hues to work on it. The devices were curious.

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There were anchors and cables twisting about all over it, and stars and guns, and there wasa full-rigged ship in front; while a little straw hat, which had been plaited and well lined, wasstuck on the child’s head in the most knowing of ways, with the name of the Terrible workedin gold letters on a ribbon round it. Certainly, however, nothing could be more inappropriatethan the name to the little smiling infant thus adorned. Never had such a dress been wornbefore by any baby ashore or afloat.Then his shipmates took care that Will Freeborn himself should be in unusually good trim,and they got him to let Nancy Bolton dress his pigtail, while Sergeant Bolton stood by, andgot him into conversation; and as for Paul Pringle, he turned out in first-rate style, and so didtwo of Freeborn’s messmates and especial chums, Peter Ogle and Abel Bush, both first-rateseamen. All the men who had leave, indeed, rigged out in their best, and adornedthemselves to the utmost of their power. The boatswain, also, got them a dozen flags, whichthey hoisted on boathooks and other small spars; and they had on board, besides, a one-legged black fiddler, and a sort of amateur band, all of whom were allowed to accompanythem.On shore early on Sunday morning they went, and marshalled as they landed from theboats which conveyed them on the quays of Kingston. The one-legged black fiddler, Sam,being the only professional, and the rated musician on board, claimed the honour of leadingthe way, followed by the rest of the band with their musical instruments. Then came thefather of the baby, Will Freeborn, supported on either side by Paul Pringle and Peter Ogle,who each bore a flag on a staff; and next, Betty Snell, to whom had been awarded thehonour of carrying the important personage of the day; and on one side of her walkedNancy Bolton, and on the other Abel Bush, one of the three proposed godfathers, withanother flag. In consequence of the numberless chances of war, it had been agreed that thechild should have three godfathers and two godmothers; besides which, each of thegodfathers was to have a mate who was to take his place in case of his death, and to assistFreeborn in looking after his son, so that there was every probability of poor Molly’s sonbeing well taken care of. These, then, came next, bearing aloft an ensign and a Union-Jack,while the rest of the crew, with more flags, rolling along, made up the remainder of theprocession.But the person who created the greatest sensation among the spectators, especially of hisown colour, was Sam Smatch, the one-legged fiddler; nor did he deem himself to be theleast in importance. No one was in higher feather. He felt himself at home in the country—the hot climate suited him; he saw numbers of his own race and hue, inclined, like himself,to be merry and idle. How he grinned and rolled his eyes about on every side—how hescraped away with his bow—how he kicked up his wooden leg and cut capers which fewpeople, even with two, could have performed as well! As to the rest of the band, he beatthem hollow. In vain they tried to play. If they played fast, he played faster; when theyplayed loud, he played louder; for, as he used to boast, his instrument was a very wonderfulone, and there were not many which could come up to it. The crowd of negroes whocollected from every side to stare at the procession, admired him amazingly, and cheered,and shrieked, and laughed, and clapped their hands in gleeful approbation of hisperformance.Thus the procession advanced through the streets of Kingston till it reached the churchdoor, it wanted still some time to the commencement of service, so the men were enabled

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to take their seats at one end of the building without creating any disturbance. There wasplenty of room for them, for unhappily the proprietors, merchants and attorneys, themanagers of estates and other residents, were very irregular attendants at places ofworship. The few people who did collect for worship stared with surprise at seeing sounusual a number of sailors collected together; and more so when the service was over, tosee Paul Pringle, acting as best man, lead his friend Freeborn, and the two nurses, and therest of his shipmates, up to the font.The clergyman had been warned by the clerk what to expect, or he would have beenequally astonished.“What is it you want, my good people?” he asked.“Why, bless your honour, we wants this here young chap, as belongs, I may say, to the oldTerrible, seeing as how he was born aboard of her, made into a regular shipshapeChristian.”“Oh, I see,” said the minister, smiling; “I will gladly do as you wish. You have got godfathersand a godmother, I suppose?”“Oh, Lord bless your honour, there are plenty on us!” answered Paul, feeling hisbashfulness wear off in consequence of the minister’s kind manner. “There’s myself, PaulPringle, quartermaster, at your honour’s service; and there’s Peter Ogle, captain of theforetop, and Abel Bush, he’s captain of the fo’castle; and then, d’ye see, we’ve each of usour mates to take command if any of us loses the number of our mess; and then as there’sthe two godmothers Nancy and Betty, right honest good women, the little chap won’t farebadly, d’ye see, your honour.”“Indeed, you come rather over-well provided in that respect,” observed the minister, havingno little difficulty in refraining from laughing. “However, I should think that you would find twogodfathers and one godmother, the usual number, sufficient to watch over the religiouseducation of the child.”“No, your honour,” answered Paul quietly; “I’ll just ax you what you thinks the life of any oneof us is worth, when you reflexes on the round-shot and bullets of the enemy, the fever,—‘Yellow Jack,’ as we calls him,—and the hurricanes of these here seas? Who can say thatone-half of us standing here may be alive this time next year? We sailors hold our livesriding at single anchor. We know at any moment we may have to slip our cable and be off.”The clergyman looked grave and bowed his head.“You speak too sad a truth,” he answered. “Now tell me, what name do you propose givingto the child?”“Billy, your honour,” answered Paul at once.“William?—oh, I understand,” observed the clergyman.“No, Billy, your honour,” persisted Paul. “Billy True Blue, that’s the name we’ve concluded togive him. It’s the properest, and rightest, and most convenient, and it’s the name he musthave,” he added firmly.